Sun Mote Copse The disco hot spots hold no charm for you

When she heard footsteps approaching, Wildfire peeked out from behind the roots. Her heart leaped in her chest as she thought, Eljay? But it was Finbar. Her heart sunk a little, then began to beat quickly. She bit back another groan as her instincts attempted to take the steering wheel and swerve right into him simply because he was nearby and male.

He peeked inside the nearby burrow. Wildfire watched him from her hiding spot among the exposed roots near the tree's base, biting her lip. Surely she could master herself. She had gone into heat once at a particularly horrible time and the commander had refused her a male's attentions. Wildfire knew she had toughed it out reasonably well, though the memory came with another and unexpected emotion: anger. Years later, that denial still stung her. She buzzed with sudden indignation, marinated in her more recent resentments toward Thuringwethil.

She was so lost in her own head that she missed Eljay's appearance. Only when she heard his familiar voice did Wildfire react. Her head popped up again. Her jaw—which she had been clenching without realizing—relaxed and her lips parted. "Eljay! Could you come here, please?" Her chestnut eyes drifted sideways to Finbar. Wildfire wanted him to go, yet she didn't. She also didn't want to be rude. "Hey, Fluke. I'm absolutely fine. I just—" She flushed a little. He must know; surely they both knew.